Strongest of Roots
by jonathanmorgenstern
Summary: One-Shot. Following Max Lightwood hours before being murdered.


Disclaimer: I don't own The Mortal Instruments. However, _you_ should own some tissues. So go grab them. I warned you.

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"_I know what I saw!"_

The assemblage of nephilim teenagers just stared at Max while he tried to gain their understanding. Aline looked hesitant, but it was his sister, Isabelle, who broke all resolve. She fixed him with an annoyed glare. "Go to bed, Max. You've been reading too many comics again. Nobody is coming to get you."

The youngest Lightwood stared at her incredulously. "But I―"

Isabelle raised a dark brow.

"It's late. Our minds play tricks on us when we're tired," Aline murmured gently, feigning empathy. The others didn't bother to look at him as Max bent his head and walked out of the room with his hands fisted into the hem of his shirt. He turned back around once he reached the shadowed portion of the corridor, almost as if to go back and try again. Nobody seemed to notice so he kept walking.

Max never understood why adults were so impassive. Most of the time they were locked away doing work for the Conclave and the other half of the time they were out battling demons. However, when Max would get the glimmer of opportunity to see them wandering without cause, they always wore a look of inferable bitterness. It was as if they'd given up on the world and in turn the world had suppressed them.

Even his parents had drifted out of their love for one another, and Max knew he was the only thing that tethered them forcefully together. He was the obstacle that gave them no other option but to act civil with one another. He didn't need to be an adult to understand the burden he was. It only made the truth even clearer. Growing up made your childhood an ephemeral memory of a prior and forgotten life. A tragedy no one saw before it was too late. A tragedy he had become for his parents.

Max resolved in that moment that he didn't want to grow up.

Pushing the heavy door aside, Max entered his guest room and shoved the comic books off the nightstand before doing anything else. He glared at the pile on the floor and stalked over towards the stained-glass window. Pulling the locks clockwise, the shutters flew open and let in a gust of cool September night air. He could see the entire city from this room. The smell of burning hearths and smoke in the distance alerted him to the early temperature drop. It usually started snowing in late October, he thought to himself curiously as he examined the forest grounds. Not a single creature was in plight. The city was also eerily silent.

Max shuddered and went to shut the window when his hand froze on the frame and his black eyes locked with a futile movement off in the distance. It was so mere that he nearly missed it. But it was definitely something.

Stumbling back, he felt his lungs twist together in sudden panic.

So he was right after all.

Someone was scaling the demon towers.

The door behind him creaked open and Max let out a shrill cry. Isabelle flew into the room with her hand hovering above her whip― eyes erratically scanning the crevices of darkness. Satisfied with her findings, she turned back to question Max when she noticed his pained expression. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" She sounded more concerned than usual.

Max grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the window. "Look! I told you I'm not imagining things!"

Isabelle frowned at him but complied if not only to get her brother to give up on the subject entirely and go to rest. She leaned outside the window and brushed aside a stray hair as she squinted into the expanse of dark forest. After a moment she sighed. "Max, I don't see anything."

"But you have to! Someone is climbing the towers and trying to break into Alicante."

Turning to him, she placed a pale hand against his shoulder and stroked the back of his neck like she used to when they were kids. Or rather, when she herself was still a kid. "Aline was right about our minds playing tricks," Isabelle said slowly. "Especially when we're all so exhausted and stressed. Please try to fall asleep? I promise everyone will be right here, unharmed and unfortunately the same as always when you wake up."

She offered a crinkled grin but Max just stared at her.

Their demurred conversation only lasted long enough for Helen to call down the hallway and announce their parent's lateness. It would be hours before they returned. Isabelle said no more as she left the room and carefully closed the door behind her. Max stood in place for a moment, stoically, when he suddenly noticed the door split open and a soft hand ghost by the nob. Isabelle had left it open for him.

The night dragged on with agonizing sluggishness. Outside the window, Max struggled to see what he could have seen only half an hour ago. The moonlight had conflated into the opulent mountains and the grey twilight that once flooded the wooden floors had now turned into a complete blackout. There were no more lights. Max could barely even hear the others whispering down the hall.

His heart began beating unevenly.

Reaching beneath his pillow, Max wrapped his fingers around the comforting wooden soldier that had taken residence there since he was five. It was given to him as a gift from his adoptive brother, Jace. Just thinking of him made Max feel an onslaught of emotion. Even though they weren't related by blood, Max felt closets with the golden haired shadowhunter who constantly picked him up whenever he felt down. He didn't think Alec or Isabelle ever noticed Jace doing it, but every once in a while he'd take Max out on demon hunts. Of course Jace wouldn't let him leave his side and most likely knew beforehand that no demonic activity was present within miles, but it nonetheless made Max feel drastically better.

With that in mind, his eyes finally began to drift shut, like the gentle turning of a new page. His one hand splayed awkwardly outside the comforter and his other clutched onto the wooden soldier. The darkness beckoned him forth and he allowed himself a moment of blissful solace before night took hold of his mind and everything folded into purposelessness.

Hours later, he heard the unmistakable sound of glass shattering.

His eyes flew open and he bolted out of bed, heading straight for the seraph blade behind his dresser. It was instinctual at this point to do so. Retrieving the weapon, he whispered "_Jophiel" _and watched in abrupt fascination as the blade lit up and illuminated the dark room. He also produced a witchlight stone from his bedside. Without a second thought, he tucked the soldier inside his pant pocket and rushed towards the hallway, creeping passed the bedrooms and making his way towards the main den.

Where there was once a room full of serious teenagers there was now nothing but utter silence and half-milky shadows. Surely if they had gone to bed after him they too would've heard the glass breaking? He knew that was no mind trick.

Max lithely slid down the grand staircase that led to the first floor and held his breath while keeping the lit blade close to his rib cage. The house was unbearably quiet. He wanted to call for his sister, or perhaps even one of the Penhallows, but couldn't seem to force his lungs to work properly.

The few runes that had been permanently marked on his skin glared up at him.

_I can do this. I have to do this. I'm a Lightwood._

Max stepped out of the shadowed hall and into the dimly lit kitchen. Remnants of his sister's cooking had been left out on the countertop alongside a stack of Sebastian's books and Helens deck of cards that Alec and Jace had been messing with hours ago. The chairs weren't tucked under the table and someone had left a wrapper out on the isle. It seemed almost too normal to be real.

And then there was screaming.

It erupted so suddenly and nearby that Max felt the witchlight slide from his grasp and collide harshly with the floor, submerging him into a blackout.

It took a moment to realize the cries were coming from a few miles into the woods. Where Alicante resided. Forgetting the stone, Max flitted to the nearest window and had to climb up against the counter to get a better view of the forest. He couldn't see much, but what he did notice was enough. Golden hues burned brightly against his vision and ran black with smoke. The tree tops were crumbling to ash…just as the towers had only minutes ago.

Alicante was burning.

The Demon Towers were gone.

And Max was alone.

The floorboard creaked behind him and he felt his heart plummet.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

But it wasn't his sister who had asked.

Turning around as slowly as an injured animal, Max came face to face with the black eyed boy who had so easily wormed his way into his family's trust and admiration. He knew from the moment he had smiled at him that something was off. Something had alerted him of the newcomer. Maybe it was his grin and how it seemed to always become sinister. Or maybe it was just the color of his eyes. Max, too, had black eyes, but _his_ eyes seemed to never end. Almost like tumbling into a pit and freefalling to your assured death.

Sebastian did just that as his lips raised into a half sneer, half grin.

"I couldn't go back to sleep." Max tried to keep his voice steady―indifferent―but it cracked on the last word.

Sebastian tilted his head, allowing some of his black locks to spill forth against his strikingly contrasting pale skin. His fathomless eyes narrowed in on Max's sword and he slowly trailed them up to meet the young boy's stare. "Did anyone ever teach you how to use that?"

Max gritted his teeth but his palms broke into a cold sweat. "Of course."

The older boy stalked nearer to him, reaching behind his back. "Well then I won't feel as terrible about this, then." And he brought the hammer down quicker than any arrow he'd witnessed his brother shoot and with more litheness than he'd seen his sister snap her whip with.

Seconds later, there was nothing.

The young boy's body crumbled to the ground like the shattered glass of the Demon Towers.

His glasses fell off his nose and the wooden soldier slipped from his pocket into an inviting pool of crimson abundance that had gathered curiously around the floor. He felt so light. So tired. It was only hours ago he had been willing himself to fall asleep and now he can't seem to stay awake.

He was reminded of when his mother used to sing him to sleep in French. He never understood the words but he had grown to memorize every last sound and vowel because they seemed to speak loudly enough.

He wondered if his mother knew how much he appreciated those nights. Or if his father ever realized that no matter what he thought of his son, Max still loved him. Or if his siblings had ever once thought that he could one day overcome them all and be proclaimed the strongest, bravest shadowhunter the world had ever seen.

It was in that moment that Max resolved he wanted to grow up.

But like some plants, the Earth can only allow the strongest of roots to break its surface. And Max was too strong for the Earth's rotten soil.

(AN: Sorry?)


End file.
